


Be Brave

by aliatori



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Cordio if you squint because that's the mood these days, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 14:16:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: What no one realized, least of all Gladio, was the brightness of hope cannot survive the total eclipse of tragedy.





	Be Brave

Fingers brushed Gladio’s cheek, little more than bones in a sheath of skin, their strength sapped by an illness even the magic of the crystal couldn’t cure. 

“My wonderful boy…” his mother breathed, a painful wheeze whistling between the words, “you’re so good and strong, and I love you very much. But I need you to be brave for me, dear heart. Can you do that?”

He could.

Tears and time make powerful healers, and Amicitias grieve better than most, a legacy of sacrifice bred into their blood. It was Gladio’s first loss, and he learned to turn his pain into motion, to fortify his will with it, to build walls around the tender, bleeding pieces of himself until they were ready to face the light of day once more.

It was his first loss, but oh, it would not be the hardest.

Even so, such a monumental shift in the tectonics of his being did not come without consequences. Gladio sliced off the last syllable of his name, distilled it down to a triple threat, and left the remains at his mother’s shrine, sanctified and holy by virtue of its disuse. (Later, he reclaimed it as a gift, allowed it to pass from the lips of those he loved most, revivified into a different type of worship altogether.) Gladio decided ‘brave’ met the bare minimum and opted for ‘fearless’ instead, facing every challenge with confident determination and an easy smile. From a tearful, weeping Iris finding her way to his door, woken by unseen terrors and inconsolable, to grueling sparring sessions with the Marshal, training that left Gladio bruised and broken and tasked with putting himself back together again, he met them all with the same stubborn refusal to be afraid.

He who would become a Shield didn’t have the luxury of fear, and more importantly, _Gladio_ didn’t, because his mother had asked it of him, and he would not dishonor her dying words.

Years passed, and at the end of an endless series of tests and trials culminating in an oath, Gladio assumed the mantle of Shield to Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum.

To celebrate the occasion, his first shield was commissioned from the royal armorer, the tool to protect along with the title. As Gladio held it, the metal heavy and cool in his hands, he knew in a way that had nothing to do with knowledge his journey was only beginning.

Flipping the shield over, Gladio’s eyes roved over the inscription of his oath, the same oath his father and grandfather and all his forebears had sworn, engraved on his armor like it had already been on his soul. Underneath the formal words were his chosen ones, symbolic of Gladio’s addition to the Amicitia line.

He had chosen two, and he ran his fingers over them, seven letters serving as the foundation of his spirit. 

The last request Gladio’s mother made of him was to be brave, as so he was.

* * *

A single conversation with his father, mere months before the world changed, would remain with Gladio for the rest of his life.

Schedules packed with more to do than hours in the day allowed meant these conversations between Gladio and Clarus were rare, but tonight, safely ensconced from winter’s chill and three glasses of whiskey in, they talked.

“How do you know…” Gladio began, pausing as the phrasing eluded him. “How will _I_ know if giving my life is the right call?”

His father downed the remainder of his whiskey in an uncharacteristic display of indulgence, then he laughed, a quiet chuckle tinged with a deeper, darker edge Gladio couldn’t place. Clarus reached over and patted Gladio on the knee, a commiserating gesture, and smiled.

“Trust me, son. If it ever gets to that point, you won’t have time to think about it. You’ll know.” 

Later, when news of Insomnia’s fall reached Gladio, he wondered, the thought steeped in bitter, angry tears, if his father had _known_ to give his life, or if he simply hadn’t been given any other choice. But Amicitias grieve better than most, so he shoved the ashes of his father’s memory into the fortress of his heart, and he soldiered on.

Gladio searched for that understanding, sought it as he stared down gods and mowed down monsters, vigilant for the moment when the balance of duty’s scales would tip. Gladio’s favourite odds were the impossible ones, and it seemed, with his friends by his side, they’d be overcome and he’d never experience that moment firsthand.

He was wrong.

Death begets death, and with the passing of the Oracle—of Luna, of Noctis’s other sworn protector, promised to him by the gods instead of men—the equilibrium shifted. Gladio pushed the way he always pushed, driven by the words of his parents and kingdom, urging Noctis to be brave as well, to _know_ , to be the king Gladio had sworn his blood and breath to; but Noctis wasn’t an Amicitia, and he didn’t excel at grieving, and when Gladio lost his patience and his temper along with it, he finished breaking what Ignis’s withdrawal and Prompto’s denial had already fractured. He tried to mend the rift with heartfelt hugs and curt apologies, but Gladio was far better at rebuilding himself than others.

It was why he was a protector, because avoiding damage meant there would be nothing to fix.

Frustrated, his friends separated by chaos, Gladio leaned on his old promise to be fearless, a promise that brought with it the scent of flowers and decay. He’d find Noctis and do whatever it took, self sacrifice included, to see this task to the end.

There was no second chance.

As Gladio stared at the crystal that had swallowed his king, he finally lived the truth of his father’s words. His death would be a bargain if it meant setting the world to rights.

The last advice Gladio’s father gave to him was the reassurance that he’d know, and he did.

He was just too late.

* * *

No one survived the World of Ruin without purpose. In lieu of protecting Noctis, Gladio decided to protect what was left of Eos.

In the early years, he channeled his rage and sorrow into action, a holding pattern as familiar as a childhood friend. Even without his king, even while apocalypse took macabre shape around him, Gladio was still a Shield, still fearless, still hopeful.

What no one realized, least of all Gladio, was the brightness of hope cannot survive the total eclipse of tragedy.

Gladio built the walls around his loss higher, stronger, and thicker, caging his personal daemons along with the raw, aching history he carried with him. When the old mantra failed—when _be brave_ failed—he substituted it with names: Cor, Ignis, Iris, Prompto. Over and over he’d repeat it, and if those four weren’t sufficient, he’d add a fifth—Noctis—and if _that_ didn’t work, he’d recall his father’s words.

He’d know.

At the end of a decade, though he wore the new title of Captain, Gladio had all but transmuted himself to stone, focused on a singular goal—survival—which allowed no space for softness.

And then, defying impossible odds (Gladio’s favourite kind), Noctis returned, bringing with it the return of his calling, Shield to the King of Light.

Tears and time make powerful healers, but all Gladio could afford were tears, weeping away the rigor of ten years at war with the world for love of his friends and king. In one last, resolute act of bravery, they agreed to take back Insomnia.

Together.

 _Be brave_ , his mother had said, and Gladio was, cutting down the most fearsome of daemons with the power of renewed purpose. Though filled with rubble and bloodshed, it was still a homecoming, and by the end, Insomnia would be home again.

 _You’ll know_ , his father had said, and Gladio had, begging Noct to let him accompany him into the Citadel, to face their shared destiny side by side.

Noctis added a single word, Gladio’s third and final mantra, the last command from King to Shield, undoing the two he’d held so closely all his life.

“Stay.”

So Gladio stayed.

He fought against hordes of daemons, because what was left to do but rage against the cruelty of destiny. When the daemons disappeared into clouds of miasma, when the ruins of Insomnia fell quiet, Gladio too fell still, collapsing onto the Citadel steps with all the weariness of body and soul.

Gladio watched as the sky changed from black to blue to purple, and when sunrise came, he closed his eyes against the light and wept, for as skilled as Amicitias are at loss, nothing had prepared him for this.

He would have been content to disintegrate under the burning, blinding sun, to float away in the crosswind, both burdens and body gone. _Be brave_ seemed pointless, _you’d know_ meant nothing.

“You didn’t think I’d... let you off that easy, did you?”

A smile, slow and tear stained, spread across Gladio’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated if you enjoyed. <3
> 
> Come find me over on [Tumblr](http://aliatori.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AliatoriEra).


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